One Little Check Box

Kiel was going to drive me to the MRI, but at 6am on a quiet and cold Saturday morning, I didn't have the heart to wake him up. I dressed warmly and snuck out of the house, pulling the door locked behind me. The drive was quick, what with little traffic, even though snowflakes sifted down with some regularity.

After a bit of a delay at the Parking Garage (apparently the shift change causes queues), I entered the main doors of Strong, took the Silver Elevators to the ground floor, and followed the red "R" signs to Radiation. A sign on the door directed weekend patients to another door, and I entered an absolutely empty waiting area. No one was in the receptionist's area, so I wandered down the hall and called out. No answer.

That's OK. I am in no hurry. A well dressed gentleman entered, talking on his cell phone. He breezed past me and I wondered if he were one of the technicians. He wandered down the same hall, opened every door, then turned around and exited the waiting area still talking on his phone. He never even glanced in my direction. Hum.

Finally, the receptionist showed up lugging a huge bag, her coat still buttoned close about her from the cold. She mumbled an apology about getting stuck in the line for the parking garage, and opened the window. Name. Type, type, type. Birthdate. Type, type, type. Answer phone. Answer nurse. Fold papers. Slap two ID bracelets on my arm. One with my vital info, the other red to alert people of my IV dye allergy.

They call me back. I mention the prep I had taken, the prednisone Benadryl cocktail. The nurse looks at my paperwork and frowns. She says she will be right back and disappears, leaving me in the waiting area for about ten minutes. I am impatient. Let's get this thing over with. I have a paper to write for class. She reappears with another person, and they are having an animated conversation. The box for contrast is not checked. Its definitely blank.

Turns out the insurance company did not approve the contrast. Only an MRI. No point in doing that since they are looking for cancer. They suggest I call the insurance company Monday, but don't advise me to have the MRI without the contrast. Otherwise they won't get the information they need for the bone biopsy. What?

No test? Good grief. I already took the prep! I'll have to go back to the drawing board and begin again. I stand there a few minutes in confusion. I revved up my mental preparedness and spent time giving myself a pep talk for nothing? What if I can't take the prep again right away? We are talking steroids here. My mind is going a mile a minute.

I realize the two ladies are staring at me, waiting for me to respond. OK. I'll go quietly. Its not like I actually want to have this test anyways. I apologize for breaking the appointment. They nod. Its not like they don't have lots of other stuff to do. I wander down the empty corridor, not sure whether to celebrate my reprieve or be mad at the snafu.